The Price of Being a Hero
by Shibalyfe
Summary: Harry Potter feels trapped in his role of "the boy who lived." This was written for The Houses Competition, Y5R1.


House/team: Gryffindor

Class subject: Care of Magical Creatures

Story category: Drabble

Prompt: [Speech] "Come here! You have to meet (him/her/name)."

Beta: Seth and Tiggs

Word Count: 719

A/N: This story was written for The Houses Competition, Y5R1.

* * *

The Price of Being a Hero

Harry stared at his reflection in the mirror. He looked the part, dressed in crisp, black dress robes with shiny, leather shoes complete with a velvet bow tie around his neck. Although he projected the appearance of belonging, no one would be able to tell that his feelings were to the contrary.

* * *

Harry took a deep breath and forced a smile on his face before stepping into the room. There were gems everywhere that glistened and threw sparkles across the room. There were large, hanging chandeliers and priceless glass statues throughout it. It was immaculate, and further accentuated just how much he didn't belong.

The room was large and filled with people, important people, dignitaries from around the world. These were people who worked hard to get to their positions; these were people the minister wanted to impress and the only reason that Harry was invited to the event.

Harry sighed when he noticed Kingsley waving him down, and slowly made his way through the crowd towards him.

"Harry!" Kingsley said unnecessarily loudly, clapping him on the back. "I am so glad you came."

Harry nodded his head at him noncommittally. He knew that his attendance for these events wasn't optional, and he didn't want to indulge in a pretense. Normally, Harry could play along, crack some real smiles, and even contribute to the conversation, but he was tired. He was tired of pretending he belonged, he was tired of pretending to be okay with everything that had happened, and he was tired of reliving it.

Kingsley continued to talk and gesture to Harry, oblivious to Harry's disinterest. His voice was getting louder with each word, gaining the attention of the people around him. Kingsley kept a sly eye on them, pretending not to notice that he had their attention, until he spotted the person whose attention he wanted to have.

"Come here! You have to meet Harry Potter!" Kingsley shouted across the room and gestured towards a figure, waving them over.

Harry tried to stop himself from rolling his eyes; it was the same thing that Kingsley did at every event, using him to get the attention he wanted from others. Harry should be used to it by now, but it still stung, and he had to let out a dry cough before he could speak. Harry made polite conversation with the significant witch before Kingsley swept him away again and towards another group of important individuals.

"Come here! You have to meet Harry Potter!" Kingsley again shouted at the crowd.

Each time the phrase was said, Harry could feel his skin crawl, and a feeling of dread would follow. Each time Kingsley introduced him to another person, he felt the room grow smaller. Each polite 'hello' Harry muttered was met with wide, curious eyes, and even worse were the questions that followed. He felt like he was a caged zoo animal, trapped, and only there for everyone else's entertainment. He was Kingsley's pet put on display, expected to perform in front of an audience, serving to amaze and dazzle the multitudes with his riveting tales of how he'd defeated Voldemort.

He wanted to move on from it so badly, to make the nightmares stop, but how could he? Each week he had to recount the stories, relive the trauma, relive the crippling fear he had felt, relive the burn of the curses that had landed on his skin, and relive the heavy weight that everyone had placed upon him. He had thought that when Voldemort was defeated, his job was done, that the expectations of others would end, and that he could fade into a quiet life.

"Come here! You have to meet Harry Potter!" Kingsley said for the fifteenth time that night.

Harry sighed, resigned. He looked out at the crowd with faraway eyes. He didn't take in the faces or the decorations; they were all blurry lines and shapes in his mind's eye. What he saw was the quiet future that he had hoped for, fading away. He would always be the 'the boy who lived,' and it seemed that he would never be able to escape that. This was the price of being a hero.

Harry turned back to Kingsley and joined in the conversation, accepting his fate, just like he always had.


End file.
